Mr_Grey

More Brutal Warriors Order.

I also have the same story with all the vulgarity intact here.

This character, Psycho13... Perhaps I made a mistake in making a character so close to who I was when I was a teenager. His intended demented behavior is... It's... Infectious for me... It's like I've awakened something inside myself, and it's raging to be let loose.

"What the [Hell] do we do now!?" Draven shouted after futilely hammering his fists against the energy field holding him in the cell.

"We wait for them to try to take us out of here," Matt groaned.

Draven Erickson, Solo Striker, Dirty Ice, Raging James and Mark Shadow were all imprisoned in separate cells of the fort's holding area. James was huddled into the corner of his cell, his tears long-since run dry. Now, he cradled his head in pain from the dehydration and strain. Mark was talking quietly to him through the neighboring cell.

"What do you think they're talking about?" Draven asked, "Mark never really knew Levi."

"Words of comfort are always welcome," Solo mumbled, "[Jebus]... I can't believe the guy's gone... Just... Ripped apart like that..."

"I always heard Silver Mantis liked a beating," Jones chuckled, "Bet she didn't like what James did to her, though. He didn't even give her much time to talk!"

"What do you think they'll do to us?"

"I don't know. Maybe they'll let us go."

"Let us go?" Draven looked incredulously to the brute, "Are you insane? We've done things to Arachnos! They know us! We've stolen a Flier, converted it to look like the Serenity ship, and used it to ferry heroes into the Isles, shoot down other Fliers and even stage an attack on Sharkhead Isle!"

"With all the [crap] that goes on in the Isles at any given time, I would have figured they'd have forgotten about all that by now," Matt shrugged, "But, oh well, I'm sure they recorded everything you just said. We're [boned] now."

"We're not [boned]," James called out from across the chamber, "I'm still ready to rip these [butt]holes apart..."

"Just rest up, man," Draven called back, "Just... We'll get them back, man. We'll get them back..."

----------

Deeper in the complex, a soldier was marching down the hall when a voice called out behind him. Turning, he saw one of the engineers beckoning to him.

"Guard," the engineer asked as he got close, "I think... I think I heard something in the mess hall..."

"Hm... I'd hate to think one of those Arachnoids broke out of its tank," the Wolf Spider growled as he drew his pistol, "Alright, let's go."

The two made their way to the mess hall and snuck in. A loud gurgling, smacking sound was heard as they neared the kitchen in the back. Clearing the doorway, the Wolf Spider pointed his pistol at the crouched form in front of it and shouted.

"Hey! Who the Hell are you?"

Reaching up, the figure grasped a gallon of milk and started draining the container into its mouth. It's said that a person can't drink an entire gallon of milk in under an hour, but somehow, this individual chugged away until the container was gone. With a triumphant gasp, he tossed the jug at the Wolf Spider and went back to eating a raw steak and a gob of hamburger.

"Alright, scumbag, I'm through playing nice!"

The Wolf Spider fired three shots, punching holes into the figure's back. The frantic devouring stopped and the figure stood. It was a thin, naked man. His body was lacerated across the legs, back, arms and even head. Turning slowly and deliberately, he grasped a butcher knife on the counter next to him and a meat cleaver.

"You," Psycho13 aimed the point of the blade at the startled Wolf Spider and his voice was croaking and gurgling with how cramped his esophagus was from the constant consumption of food products to replenish his body's nutrients, "Where can I get some of those snazzy pants?"

"Uh..." the Spider squeezed the trigger a few more times, punching even more holes into the scrapper's body. This time, the wounds closed shortly afterward, leaving the guard to guess that the ones in his back had done the same.

"Wrong answer!" the naked man's face suddenly became the mask of a maniac and he chopped a chunk out of the counter with the cleaver, "I asked you, [fricker]! Where! Can I find! Some pants!?"

He punctuated each phrase with another chop into the counter and a step toward the Wolf Spider. The Engineer was already running away, probably to get more troops.

"You don't scare me!" the Wolf Spider shouted as he fired more bullets into the young man, "Just because you're a Destined One!"

"Destined one!?" the scrapper laughed, "Buddy, I'm a bona fide [butt]kicker, not some crony for Arachnos' schemes!"

The Wolf Spider merely fired a few more times before the butcher knife stabbed into his wrist. Screaming, the soldier dropped the pistol and threw himself backwards, but the demented young man followed him, kicking him squarely in the chest and knocking him to the floor.

"Now..." he said in an even tone as his esophagus recovered, "I'll be needing the location of some pants..."

----------

"Ma'am?" Operative Fulkerson reported to her hospital bed as the doctors finished repairing her foot, "The clean-up crew reported that the Grinder is as clean as it can be."

"Good, good..." the cyborg villainess rasped as she hopped off the bed, "Now... Did they scoop up the remains like I asked? I've got some experiments I want to run..."

"Um... Actually, about that..."

"What?" Silver Mantis stamped on her freshly-repaired foot to see if it was up to snuff, "What is it, Operative?"

"The cleaning crew was wondering why the blood stain you were concerned with wasn't there. The Grinder has signs of use, but no blood, no parts... Nothing."

"What!?" she shrieked, casually stabbing into one of the nurses in her rage, "Why the Hell not?"

"We... Don't know, ma'am..."

"Wasn't as easy as you expected, was it?" the deep, tinny voice of Black Scorpion rumbled from the back of the operating room, "I told you. Even the piddly-[crap] ones are notoriously difficult to get rid of."

"I know, Scorpion!" she hissed, "This son of a-!"

"I have found some kind of temporary sanity, with all this..." a voice chortled over the intercom, "Ah-heh-heh-heh! I can't go and finish that lyric..."

"And now he's in one of the communications rooms," Scorpion grunted, "I trust you know how Lord Recluse enjoys hearing about these little spats and how they affect the day-to-day operations of Arachnos."

"You look so precious... You look so precious... You look so precious, now... You look so precious..." Psycho13's voice continued.

"I'll handle it!" Silver Mantis screamed, her body unconsciously sprouting spikes as she started marching to the door.

"You'd better," Black Scorpion growled at her back, "I don't want to find a new girlfriend."

----------

"Damn, these pants are snug," Levi chuckled as he cycled through the options the computer's operating system provided him, "I wonder if any of these idiots can even fit underwear in them..."

He located information on some submersibles trying to sneak into Paragon. Using the command codes that were conveniently left on a sticky-note next to the computer, he rerouted them to the Antarctic Circle. He also ordered a few cells in Brickstown to assault the Circle of Thorns in Oranbega, a cell in London to commence a raid on the NHS headquarters and a crew in Grandville to deliver a fresh mocha latte to Lord Recluse.

He would have done more, but the room suddenly went dark. The hatch to the hallway opened and the scrapper gathered the combat knives he'd taken from the Wolf Spider's footlocker along with the armor-padded pants before leaving.

It was a shame he had to jab the butcher's knife into the guy who'd led him to the barracks room and stake his arm to the bed, but he just couldn't let the man run off and tell somebody where he was. Chasing down the engineer had been trickier, and he had to take down a couple more Wolf Spiders, but with them all trapped inside that bathroom he would be able to move freely for a short while.

Calling Silver Mantis' operating room might have been a mistake on his part, but he'd been feeling positively bubbly at the time. She'd tried to kill him and he'd survived. He felt he was owed some gloating time.

Wondering briefly if the orders he'd sent had been intercepted before the fort's crew had shut the communications room down, he made his way into the darkened hall and started finding his way to his next objective.

----------

--Grandville--

"I don't understand," Lord Recluse growled as he stared at the steaming cup, "It took an entire squad of Bane Spiders to deliver one cup of coffee?"

"Those were the orders, sir," the Executioner commanding them explained, "I... I don't understand it myself..."

There were a few minutes of silence before Recluse finally growled "Get out."

Drumming his fingers on the armrest of his throne, the leader of Arachnos wondered who was messing with his troops and why they weren't doing something more worthwhile.

Lose the current Granite mode.

We're not Hamidon's playthings.

Brutal Warriors Order

I call this story "Through the Grinder."

It opens with a main BWO character getting turned into cube steak.

I've had this story in mind since I put Psycho13 through a night with Silver Mantis (*shudder* That brings up disturbing mental images). Well, she's not one to let a man just get away like he did, so she sets up an elaborate death trap for him in a similar vein as Mortal Kombat.

Oh yeah. He gets ground up.

If he had to think about it, it should have been obvious. Doc Buzzsaw hadn't even asked for anything in return when Matt, James and he had demanded she give them all the information she could on the weird criminal mercenary "Nukus."

Jonas Silver had actually proven very amicable in helping acquire information on the strange man. Nukus had escaped from custody on his way to the Zig, aided by a group of strange ninja. Not wanting to let the man who ruined his presentation of the civilian model of the cybernetic chassis that ran the NHS' cyborg agents get away from justice, Jonas moved a large amount of his personal funds to locate the lunatic's hideout.

Silver got a big break from his Rogue Isle contacts. It turned out that Nukus' newest assault rifle had been manufactured by a demented mad scientist based in Sharkhead who worked for the Freakshow. He immediately contacted the Brutal Warriors and pointed them in the right direction. When they confronted Buzzsaw about the situation, she brightened at their approach and happily answered all of their questions.

It was strange that Nukus' hideout was under the Arachnos fortress in St. Martial. Solo Striker suggested that it was probably the best place to hide out because you could siphon off their power grid with a small operation and with all the messed up stuff going on at any given time in an Arachnos fort, it would probably never be noticed.

When the fluorescent lights clicked on with an electric squeal, however, Levi Baker was cursing his luck and wishing he hadn't taken point on the strange catwalk crossing over this section of sewer. It was like a deep chasm, and they could hear their voices echoing off the walls as they approached it. Throwing a pebble over the side was rewarded a few seconds later with a metal clinking sound.

He didn't like it going in, but they had little choice. Thus far, Psycho13 had been the one man in the group who could take massive damage and get back shortly afterward, ready to fight. If he got sniped by Nukus watching them through a night vision scope, he could pull himself back together and get back to looking for the psychotic *******.

The lights turning on weren't part of the plan, though. Shielding his eyes against the sudden brightness, Baker glanced about for the source of the change. As he looked up for a motion sensor, his heart dropped.

A resounding, metallic cackle answered his questions as to what was going on. It told him he wasn't hallucinating.

Silver Mantis stood in an alcove cut into the side of the brick wall, roughly twenty feet above the catwalk. She had her hands on her hips and a demented grin split her face.

"Hi," Psycho13 said as amicably as his sinking feeling would let him.

"You fool!" she shouted back, "I knew you'd be back someday! I knew you'd fall back in my clutches, but I never thought it would be this easy!"

"Uh..." the scrapper scratched his head and shrugged to his friends who were standing in the entrance to the tunnel at the beginning of the catwalk.

Draven motioned frantically for him to come back, but the metallic sounds of doors opening throughout the warrens and armored boots trundling toward them from all sides was disheartening. Instead, Psycho13 turned back to Silver Mantis and shook his head.

"Um... Look. We... We didn't come looking for you..."

"I know," the cybernetic dominatrix chuckled, "I had your description plastered throughout the Isles... I told anyone who would talk to Destined Ones that I wanted them to send you and your friends my way. Doc Buzzsaw called me after she saw you and sent you on your way... To your doom..."

She licked her lips and reached for a lever. After pulling it, the entire chamber seemed to roar and shake. Cringing, Levi knelt down and looked for what could be the source of the sound. A noise of wrenching steel below caught his attention and the sinking feeling suddenly turned to falling.

Below him, a pair of massive cylinders were spinning and gaining speed. They were covered in tines, blades and other sharp protrusions. A horrible slicing sound would occur every so often to show that some of the cutting objects hadn't been measured to their counterparts properly, but nothing locked up or stopped. Instead, the cylinders continued their inexorable spin and the scrapper started getting a bad feeling where this was going to go.

"Levi!" his brother shouted, the red electricity wrapped about his form flashing brightly and dangerously as he stepped on the catwalk, "Get over here! Come on!"

"Stay back!" Pscyho13 shouted, "Stay-!"

A spike interrupted him as it slammed into his right bicep and pinned him to the railing.

"What a shot!" Silver Mantis laughed, "I can't believe that worked!"

"Ugh... So what?" Psycho13 asked as he tried to pry the spike from the metal rail, "Now I'm stuck! You want me to fall down there, you're going to have to come up with something!"

She thought briefly on it, then threw another spike. This one stabbed into his leg and pinned it to the floor of the catwalk. She then hurled more, each one poking holes into the structure of the bridge and the adventurer realized what she was trying to do.

In desperation, and suddenly inspired by his memory of how to deal with losing an arrow, he pulled at his arm instead of the spike. The barbs, pointing back to the base of the projectile, allowed him to slide off, but it still took some effort. He then turned to his leg to do the same.

"Dammit!" she hissed and motioned for the soldiers behind her to take positions at the edge of the opening, "This is taking too long! Cut it down!"

The lead Crab Spider chuckled and drew a submachine gun. When he sprayed the catwalk with ammunition, the other Crab Spiders followed suit and rained bullets and energy throughout the chamber. The catwalk groaned and Psycho13 pulled free.

Unfortunately, that was when the catwalk gave and he fell. His brother tried to fly out to save him, but the hail of ammunition knocked him off course and the scrapper tumbled heedlessly into the Grinder.

Hitting the top of one of the cylinders, he felt the spikes and blades tear into his flesh. He never told his brother or their friends the truth. He could feel pain. He could feel anything. He felt EVERYTHING. From the sensation of bullets puncturing his skin to how his bones moved under his muscles, even the weird sheathe sensation when his muscles moved under his skin.

It was a lie that he thought would keep him safe. If his enemies didn't think he could feel the horrible things they were doing to him, they would probably stop doing them. It hearkened back to every time somebody had messed with him as a kid, because he would stop acting like it bothered him and they would stop doing what messed with him.

It wasn't working here, though. He remembered that horrible night, the night he spent as Silver Mantis' prisoner. There were things that happened that night he still hadn't told his friends. None of it really bothered him the way he was certain it would if he'd been "normal," his body had healed, but the memory of it made him wary of running into the psychotic woman again.

He didn't know he'd made an impression on her, though. Silver Mantis had dealt with regenerators before, but every one of them had despaired at being tortured to the point of passing out and being revived within moments to have the process start all over again. This one, however, had laughed, LAUGHED, at her as she violated him over and over. He hadn't cared. He passed out repeatedly that night, but refused to die, refused to submit, and refused to beg for mercy.

He had just kept smiling that damned manic smile of his, growing new teeth back in every time she knocked or pried them out. It was like he was some sort of twisted, hideous cartoon, and she kept hitting him with a mallet but he kept growing a new head.

She thought she'd found the way to kill him now, though. She just had to try it out! If it worked, she'd use it on all the other regenerators she ran into, including that aggravating Vindicator, Valkyrie.

She cheered triumphantly as Psycho13 hit the cylinder and was dragged into the cleavage of the monstrous machine. His legs were ground into a fine red pulp almost instantly, but the cylinders paused as they reached his waist. His right arm was pinned between the spikes, and he pushed weakly and futilely against the cylinder he faced with his free hand.

Gurgling as his internal organs were squeezed while the machine pressed inexorably, he looked up to his brother, who stared down in horror.

"James!" he choked, "It... It hurts!"

The machinery suddenly revved harder and the cylinders started spinning again. Screaming, the scrapper was dragged under to the foulness below the machinery, pulped bits of his remains clinging to the wicked machinery that had done him in and staining a red line through the center of the two business parts of the Grinder.

---

James couldn't believe what he'd just seen. His brother, his older, bizarre, happy-go-lucky, demented, clownish brother, had just been turned into cube steak. Energy blasts from the Crab Spiders slammed into him, but he didn't register it. He turned in the air and rose slowly until his gaze was level with Silver Mantis.

"Aw..." she cooed condescendingly, "Did I hurt your widdle boyfwiend?"

The next thing she knew, a fist had connected with her jaw. Knocked backward into the metal door and jarred, she looked up to try to make sense of what was going on. James stood over her, his hands balled into fists and his eyes blazing rage.

"You just killed my brother!" he shouted, "[dog], I'm gonna drill you through the [fricking] wall!"

Heedless of the soldiers trying to stop him, he reached down and grabbed a hold of her by her shoulders. Twisting, he spun her body into the soldiers, knocking them aside. One fell over the edge but grasped it at the last moment before hurtling into the Grinder himself.

James wasn't concerned with that, however. Still twisting around, he slammed the metal woman's head into the wall. The bricks and mortar yielded and she tumbled through into another chamber.

As she stumbled to her feet, Silver Mantis considered briefly that she hadn't taken into account the reactions of the people her target knew. Sure he was annoying to her, but was he as annoying to others?

Grasped on the back of her neck, she exploded into spikes in an attempt to lash out at her assailant. James rolled his eyes, not in pain, but in annoyance. Roaring incoherently, he threw her back through the hole in the wall, careful to make sure her face smacked the bricks again.

She hit the opposite corner and started laughing. The brute reached her again and kicked her in the belly, bouncing her off the wall and into his arms. He then threw her like a football into the metal door and she crumpled at its foot.

"What's so [fricking] funny?" he growled as he stomped on her ankle with a sickening crunch.

"AUGH!" she yelped despite her affinity for pain, "Ugh... You don't [mess] around... And I'm laughing because... Because I killed your brother! He's dead and he's never coming back!"

James reached down and grabbed her. Lifting her overhead, he turned to the opening overlooking the Grinder. Mantis knew what was coming next. She wondered briefly if her Arachnos Emergency Porter would save her before the death machine did irreparable damage.

She never got to find out, however. James didn't notice the door opening as he hefted the woman up. He never noticed the massive bulk walking casually behind him. A heavy thunk sounded as Black Scorpion's cybernetic, clawed hand cracked the back of the brute's skull and dropped him like a sack of rocks.

"Ernie!" Silver Mantis cheered happily as she tried to stand, "Augh! My ankle!"

"What the Hell is going on here, Tammi?" the big cyborg asked, "Who is this idiot, and how did he get the drop on you like this?"

"Um..." she replied, but didn't get to finish before one of the Crab Spiders capturing the rest of the Brutal Warriors announced over the radio that they were successful, "Oh! Good work, Operative Fulkerson..."

"No problem, ma'am," the one who's head was smashed into the wall next to her grunted, "I'm glad to take the credit."

"Uh..." the radio sounded, "Ma'am, my name isn't Fulkerson, it's-..."

"Shut up!" Black Scorpion interrupted, "Round up these idiots and throw 'em in the cells... And make sure this one has his head examined by our medical personnel. I want to be sure he's in perfect condition when I personally show him what happens to anybody who lays a finger on my Mantis!"

"Yes sir!" the soldiers shouted in bright agreement.

James already knew he was alright, though. He was more concerned about his brother and how he'd failed him. Now he was gone, and he 'd never gotten his revenge against the men who'd made him the way he was. He'd never gotten his revenge on the men who'd taken years from his life.

"Don't worry," he whispered as the soldiers dragged him through the warrens, "I'll see to it for you..."

----------

Under the Grinder was a massive, empty chamber. Made of the same stone as the sewers that surrounded the machinery, it was about as filthy as one would expect as grit and slime clung to it. Blood from the slowly winding-down cylinders above dripped into a massive pool in the center of the chamber. Nine pints of blood covered a surprisingly large area.

In the center, a pulped mass of meat and bone trembled. For several hours, the room continued in this vein. When things changed, there was a slithering sound as the blood was slowly pulled toward the pulp, turning it into an amorphous mass. Above, the blood seemed to pour more quickly from the still cylinders. Slowly but surely, the mass coalesced, rose and formed into a sphere.

After a few minutes of sitting still like a stone, the blob drew within itself, leaving a crouched humanoid figure. Bald, naked, and confused, Levi Baker shivered as he collapsed to the floor. He didn't know what had just happened, he only knew that he'd woken from a nightmare. He'd tumbled to his death, just like he'd seen happen repeatedly in his sleep, but this time it was real.

This time, he'd been through all of it. He'd felt the steel grinding the flesh from his bones and his bones into splinters. He'd felt his body stretched out and ripped asunder. He'd felt his entire consciousness perforated and obliterated.

Everything had gone black.

He'd died.

"Has it been three days?" he gasped as he shivered on the floor, "Where am I?"

Nobody answered him. A rat squeaked nearby. Cockroaches skittered past, wondering where the food they'd detected had gone.

A hunger clutched at the young man's stomach. It was sharp and painful, and he had to satisfy it. Before he knew what he was doing, he had lunged across the distance between him and the nearest rat. Snapping its neck in one quick move, he turned to devouring the wretched animal.

As he did so, he could feel disease wafting from its blood and mingling with his. His antibodies reacted violently. This was their body, not the disease's. His skin felt hot as he fought off the infection as soon as it entered him. He ate five rats whole and countless cockroaches, before he could finally find the strength to search for a way out.

A maintenance hatch, probably for cleaning the goo if this chamber ever got repeated use, served as his salvation. He searched it and was relieved it had a handle on this side. Trying it, he was again rewarded with a satisfying click and the hatch fell away from him.

Cold, alone, and confused, Psycho13 made his first tremulous steps into the Arachnos Base that served as the main dock for St. Martial. He didn't know what he was looking for, but pants, food and weapons were priorities. He'd figure out the rest later.

Ooh! Another one that grinds my gears...


The Bone Daddies. Bastards are some tough [butt]-holes for the levels you fight them... And they even have Soul Drain, which makes them phenomenally powerful, even against groups!

They're just such a [dog] to fight when you're encountering them!

My Beautiful Misery

I'm back, baby!

This story's actually closer to the end than I expected. The latest update sets up the next chapter, which is when the escape from Praetorian Earth begins.

We reach the Asylum and I place Cheryl in my chambers. She's curious about my painting, but I tell her I'm too exhausted to explain. She nods in understanding and lets me crash on my bed.

I don't know how long I sleep, but a knock at the chamber door wakes me. It's insistent and I can hear Vasilikos' panicked mind calling for me. I jump up and throw a blanket over the dozing Cheryl, who's curled up on the chair.

What little sleep I'd had combined with the shot of adrenaline that usually comes when you think something's wrong helped me construct an illusion that made her disappear. I also checked to make sure my mental block was firmly in place before opening the door.

Mother Mayhem is leaning against the door frame and looking drunkenly at me. Actually, she is drunk. She leans in and plants a kiss on my cheek, hugging me to steady herself.

"I want to have fun tonight!" she shouts, her voice sounding oddly like it's two instead of one.

I don't need to think very hard to know what kind of fun she's talking about. I push her away slightly, but I make it seem like I'm only trying to get a better look at her face.

"Oh, my lovely goddess," I chant, "I have been yearning for a night like this..."

I am so going to get wasted when this is over...

"Really?" she asks as she presses against me again, "Oh, Malaise... I've been so worried about you..."

"Really, my love?"

She pulls away and advances deeper into my chambers. She locates the painting, sitting on its easel next to the very chair Cheryl sleeps on, and folds her arms over her chest as she glares at it. I step up behind her, hoping my illusion over the girl doesn't falter.

God, I hope I've got the colors right...

"This monstrosity you faced" Mayhem explains, "It was psychic?"

"Indeed... Or at least..." I hiss, "It had a psionic presence. It was surrounded by lessers, but they all spoke with one voice..."

Which is true... Normal heroes can't tell because the Clockwork King uses crude voice emitters in his machines and each one's different, but Penelope, Psyche and other psychics have always heard the similar tone in the "minds" of the robots. It makes me wonder why it wasn't one of us who figured it out before those heroes working for Saramango, Anderson, Montoya, Greene and even Synapse. Synapse, of all people, finally established a link to the King and sent a force of heroes to shut him down...

It didn't stick, but still! The fact that he'd figured it out, instead of Shalice or Aurora or... Well... Me...

I've got to admit, it stings a little.

"I believe I'm getting better," I rasp, hoping it's the sort of thing my opposite does, "In fact, I-..."

"What happened to your face?" she asks; in my musing, I didn't realize she'd turned to look at me.

"I don't remember," I lie, though I do suddenly remember the right cross Calvin clocked me with when I woke him up (my cheek must have finally bruised), "I woke up once with my face against the tub..."

"We should have Vasilikos take care of you when we're done, then," she coos softly, lightly brushing her hand against my cheek, "For now... Focus on one thing..."

She makes a grab for my... Um... Personal area... And I'm so shocked that I c-grhblablghablabblabbl-*POP!*-Aaugh!

AAAAAAAAAAUGH!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!

She looks at me curiously. I think some of my internal screaming had got through the mental barrier.

"Did you hear that?" she asks, turning to look down the hall.

She's so drunk she thought it was one of the "patients." Thank whatever gods remain watching over me in this world, they're on my side!

"I'm sure it's just one of the inmates, dear..."

I notice a slight tremble in my voice. God, I hope she mistakes it for desire...

A plan is forming in my head, but it's going to require... Well, finesse is the wrong word, but I'll go with it...

"I suppose you're right..." she sighs, then whirls around to face me, an evil glint in her eyes, "Mal... Dearie... Let's have fun like we used to. Let's make Calvin watch you defile his wife's body!"

"Sounds like a fantastic plan... I'll meet you in your chambers, my love... I think... I think we should have the painting in the room while we... Do it... I'll join you shortly..."

She nods and licks her lips. There's a gentle sway to her hips as she sashays out my chamber door.

When she's gone, I let myself tremble and fall to the floor. This is all getting way out of hand. I need to get out of here. No more waiting.

This ends tonight!

My most disliked NPC?

Hm...

Domi's goons. They're so stupid-looking, yet take SO LONG to kill!

For me, it's the Bloody Rivers and Falls of the Cascade Archipelago in the Shard. There's something jarring, haunting and yet beautiful about those rivers.

I was nearing the end of my training in Parris Island.

They called it "Team Week." This was before civilians started running the chow halls (what many people call mess halls or cafeterias), so I was working in the 1st Battalion Chow Hall when a Lance Corporal walked up to me with a big smile on his face.

LCpl Moron: *BIG SMILES*: "Guess what boys? Terrorists just crashed two planes into the World Trade Center! WE'RE GOING TO WAR!"

Me: "Uh-huh. Bull-[plop]."

Moron: "No, man! I'm dead serious!" *STILL FRICKING SMILING* "We're going to Iraq and we're gonna get some!"

Moron left after that to "spread the good word," and the recruit next to me looked at me, worried.

Other Recruit: "What do we do, [Grey]? What if it's true?"

Me: *shrug* "Serve food. What else can we do?"

Recruit: *silent stare*

That was probably the second time I've ever felt enlightenment in my life. Sad it took such loss to receive such a sensation, but it was what helped me get through the remaining month of "funk" and depression that permeated the entire base. One of my Drill Instructors was contemplating requesting a transfer back into Infantry, but (in a surprisingly candid moment) he told us he couldn't do that to his daughters and wife.

Since then, after the conflicts that arose from that singular moment (though it was more catalytic than anything; as I see it, we were probably headed into Iraq anyway), I look at this day as being much like December 7th. It's shocking when we're assaulted on our own soil. It's doubly-so when so-called warriors assault unarmed civilians.

Ugh... I finally got back into writing!

Grey's Army

I really need to settle this bit of Mary Sue crap I started without realizing it. It's gotten to a point that makes me sick to think about as I write it, but the characters keep prattling on like they're people.

Also, I don't intend to make the Blue Talon security company into a story element. It's the SG I made for my Virtue Main and I really need to fit the rest of my Virtue Bluesiders into it...

Anyway, Eisenherz (my Virtue main) and Kipland discuss matters in Paragon as they keep an eye on an armored jewel carrier. The action, of course, cuts off as the Freakshow attack...

--Atlas Park--

Roland lurched into his apartment and crashed on the sofa there. The magic in the fabric massaged and relaxed his sore muscles. He was exhausted from a day of helping renovate his father's base after Ms. Liberty had left. He probably shouldn't have, but the Ryats were doing all of the heavy lifting, and it helped him exercise his muscles again to regain mobility. Whatever it had been that "Lilian Rose" had done to him, it made him feel incredibly sluggish and unresponsive. Slowly, he was regaining control of his body and returning to normal, and it seemed to go faster if he got involved with some kind of labor.

"Dammit, Snuffy," he grumbled into his forearms, "I know..."

His work with his father was suffering because of her pestering. Normally, she would have left him alone. Lately, however, she'd been poking into his mind, asking if he was sure he was feeling okay. When he growled for what had to be the fiftieth time that he was fine, she countered that people who'd been sexually assaulted were never fine. She was already asking psychics who worked as psychologists and psychiatrists (which was apparently a lot of them) what disorders they knew were associated with such an attack when he let out a low growl to get her attention. Slowly, calmly, he informed her of how he had just convinced the woman not to go through with the attack that would surely kill him before his sister and Ms. Liberty for cavalry arrived to save him.

Ms. Liberty...

All of this... His staying in the city, the suffering, torment and assaults he'd suffered... Even the attempt to **** the life out of him... It was all because of his association with her. They wanted to hurt him to hurt her. It was what the Menders had warned him about, it was ludicrously psychotic, and it was working.

He still remembered the shocked look on her face. She'd gone pale at seeing how just being his friend had almost killed him. She probably didn't like that kind of responsibility.

He wasn't like most heroes. He couldn't lift and throw big rocks into the distance, he couldn't shoot energy blasts from his hands, and he couldn't do a lot of the things his compatriots and counterparts throughout the city and across the world could do with ease. There were few heroes as "underpowered" as he was, and they usually found something to supplement their lack of power.

He did, too. Sheldon's gadgets to affix to his arrows, and a few others to protect himself. The inventor made some fantastic devices, and he implemented them with a professional air that almost made Roland forget how absurd the work was. A few of the items were strange, like the inertial dampening leggings that helped him leap long distances (something he still hated to do, as it reminded him too many times what it was like to fall off his roof as a kid), others were simple, like the canister of slippery ooze that ignited about as fast as jet fuel (which had saved his life on a number of occasions, like when he'd been attacked by Dominatrix).

In the end, though, he couldn't count on those things to keep him safe. The interested criminals and terrorists operating out of the Rogue Isles would find a way to take his life if he stayed here.

So...

Why did he really stay?

"That's the ten-million dollar question, right there," he sighed as he rolled to his back and stared at the ceiling, "Why am I putting myself through this?"

He didn't think about it before. He had a chance to do it right now. Or, he would have if there weren't a knock at the door.

"Hang on!" he grunted, "I'll be right there..."

He reluctantly pulled himself from the sofa and felt the magic slowly slide off his body. It was a strange enchantment, one that made it more comfortable than any piece of furniture had a right to be. It was the only bit of magic he really liked, too. Why couldn't more of it be simple things like that?

Opening the door, he was greeted by the warm, smiling face of Jessica Duncan. She was in a simple outfit of a black rain jacket, a light blue shirt with a cartoonish cat face on it and a pair of blue denim pants. She held a large box under her arm that Roland recognized as a garment box.

"Hi," he said, a hint of confusion tingeing his voice, "What's up?"

"I thought of a way to make things up to you!" she chirped, "Let me in!"

"Alright, alright," he stepped back and gestured for her to enter, "I was just thinking about... This... Situation..."

Ms. Liberty looked at him with a wry glance.

"You sounded confused there..."

"I was just searching for the right words," he growled, "I didn't... I didn't mean..."

"It's okay, you big goof!" she jabbed him lightly in the arm with her free hand, "You been sleeping?"

"I was resting before you got here. I was working all day."

"You shouldn't be doing that," Jessica set the box on the couch and started opening it, "I thought the doctors said you needed rest. Wait until you see what I got from Icon for-!"

"I don't need rest, I need to get back in working condition. I just... I don't know why, I just-..."

Jessica held up a strange-looking outfit. It was a suit, to be sure, and it was one sized for him. It was like a tuxedo, though it still retained the simple capabilities of a business blazer. The white dress shirt was a pleated thing, which was obviously designed to make the wearer appear slimmer than he really was. The real draw for the eyes, however, was the strange hem on the object in her other hand.

"Um..." he intoned, his mind drawing a blank at what looked like a blanket, "A cloak?"

"Yeah!" she squeaked happily, "It's that new style that's been cropping up here and there, the high collar one! I thought you might like this tribal design... It's fancy and subdued at the same time!"

He noticed the cloak's interior was white as a contrast to the rest of the outfit's black. At least it wasn't colored bright sky blue or orange sherbet.

"Well... Is this for me?"

"Of course!" she started laughing as she set the clothes back in the box, "I can't wear something this big and be taken seriously at the banquet this Friday..."

"What?"

"The banquet... It's a big event to celebrate five years since the end of the first Rikti War and the influx of heroes into the city. Apex is going to be getting a medal for his efforts in helping bring down Requiem early in his career."

"Oh. So he's your date?"

Jessica turned and fixed Roland with a look that chilled him.

"No..." she said quietly, "Try again..."

"I'd rather not," he replied and scratched the back of his head, "My mind goes to dark places lately..."

"I'll give you a hint," she smirked, pulled a wide-brimmed hat out from under the cloak and folded her arms over her chest, "He's the only guy in this room, right now..."

Roland blinked and shrugged.

"Why?"

"Because," Jessica walked up to him and playfully placed the hat on top of his head, "I think it will be good for you."

----------

--Brickstown--

Most of the patrol went uneventfully. Eisen had merged his SUV seamlessly behind the armored truck after it passed the alley. Kip looked through the sunroof to see a black and blue uniformed hero fly over a building and disappear. It was likely he wasn't going to lend support if they ran into trouble as he'd just reached the end of his leg of the patrol.

"It keeps us rested and alert," Eisen explained as he pulled the SUV behind a red sports sedan, "We don't strain ourselves to cover each inch of the situation, but we overlap our legs so that the objective is always covered."

"Good tactic," Kip replied, "Prudent."

"A chief virtue of the organization," the tall man agreed.

The truck was making stops at each of the Family Jewels stores throughout the city. Despite traversing dangerous territory where the Council liked to strike their poses and the Freaks liked to show off the latest gadgets they'd grafted to their bodies, they saw little in the way of resistance. Eisenherz never let the truck get too far away from him, and when the vehicle stopped at a store, he pulled around the corner and took a few laps around the block.

At one point, he parked the car and he and Kip got lunch. While sitting and eating while the tanker watched the store across the street, they continued to discuss the company.

"We try to be sensible and avoid reaching beyond our grasp," Gordon began, "In the first year of the organization, shortly before the first Rikti War, the boss, former Army Colonel Emanuel Horrigan, had thought meta humans could do almost anything. While they can, his thinking was seriously flawed. Our capabilities come from numerous sources, sources we don't fully understand when we first start leaping tall buildings or throwing fire. Quite a few lower-power heroes lost their lives engaging things that... That... They simply were too overwhelming. Bank robberies, criminal plots... The meta humans he'd hired before were all low-ranked, uncontrolled malcontents who wanted so desperately to prove themselves and they just got manhandled by the Fifth Column and the Tsoo... That's why we don't run our own investigations, Kip. Horrigan's scared of another year of blood."

"He must have seen some success," the scrapper retorted, "I mean, it's not like his company's floundering. You've got snazzy uniforms, a base of operations in Talos Island, and if I'm not mistaken, this is an armored SUV... With a Hemi V-8!"

"Heh," Eisen smiled briefly and took a bite of his burger, "Yeah. While many died, a few survived. We call them the Black Talons. If a Black Talon gets called into a situation, be prepared to see some fireworks. Those guys don't mess around."

"You're not a Black Talon?" Kip arched an eyebrow and regarded the grim tanker, "You know a lot about the company..."

"It's in the handbook," Eisen shook his head again, "I'm trying to explain the mentality of the company, Kip. I know you. You're a hothead. You'll pursue the criminals we run across. I see you when you glare at the Freaks. I hear you curse under your breath as we pass the Council soldiers. I'd like to run their groups over, too, but I can't."

"You really hate the Council... Why?"

"That's a personal question. I won't answer that. Now... In order to avoid reprisals, or excessive reprisals, we just deflect attacks on our charges or we help the overtaxed police department in evacuating civilians from danger areas. We rarely, if ever, engage major super-powered criminals. Most of our ranks are just rifle or shotgun-toting guards, and the meta humans are often spread too thin to provide a decent fight. The only reason you're here with me is so I can instruct you."

"But you patrol with Genevieve," Kip pointed at Eisen, "What's your story there?"

"Genny... Her powers are... Erratic..."

"You're not telling me something..." Kip blinked, "Is something wrong with her?"

"Another personal question... One I don't feel I should answer, even if I wanted to. You want to know more, you talk to her about it when our patrol is done."

Kip nodded and sipped from his soda. Eisenherz finished his burger and crumpled the paper he'd received it in into a tight little ball. When he finished his soda in one long slurp, he opened the lid on the top and tossed the paper ball inside the cup. Kip arched an eyebrow at that, but continued to eat at a leisurely pace.

"Hurry up," Gordon growled, "We need to be ready to move when they roll out."

"When does our shift end?" Kip asked before stuffing the last bits of the burger into his mouth and standing to put his tray away, "Ah mihn, ish nod lige woor in-con-spishoush..."

"What?" the tanker asked as they made their way back to the vehicle.

"Somebody has to have noticed use driving around with the truck by now," Kip explained after swallowing the last of his food, "I mean, it's a pretty normal-looking SUV, but after a while, the bad guys will realize it's always around when they want to pull the heist."

"I think you give our enemies too much credit. We're talking about people who still take potshots at heroes that have just days prior beaten them into bloody pulp. Hell, even Dreck still shouts in this city through loudspeakers that he can beat up Statesman. They're boastful, loud, and lacking a lot of cognitive capabilities."

"Makes you wonder about the effectiveness of our work," Kip shook his head sadly as he entered the vehicle, "They may be dumb as rocks, but they seem more than capable of bumping their way back out of the Zig."

"It's not the Zig they escape from," Eisen strapped on his seatbelt before he even shut his door, "It's the precincts."

They rejoined the armored truck and Gordon explained their last stop would be next to the Green Line. There was one more store to stop at and then they would meet the next patroller. The overlap was extended to the Green Line because the truck would be laden with diamonds, precious gems and other jewels. Eisen also explained that a few meta human law enforcers and even a P.P.D. unit of Powered Armor Cops were on standby.

Unfortunately, the Freakshow had anticipated something like that. There was a flash and an explosion burst from the side of the armored truck. Eisen didn't speed up, instead bringing his SUV to a screeching halt like the other civilian vehicles. Kip glared at him, but Eisen paid no heed as he made sure his shield was properly secured.

"Brace yourself," Eisen grunted as cybernetic Freaks ran for the immobilized truck, "But not too hard. You need some give for the impact..."

"I thought seatbelts were supposed to take care of that..."

"They help immensely, but you don't want to just let your body snap around..."

"You sound like you're expecting to crash," Kip made sure his seatbelt was securely fastened.

"Expect, no..." Eisen glared at the five Freakshow Tanks that were trundling to the fight as the smaller ones raked their claws into the armored truck's plating, "Plan on it."

With that, he revved the engine and threw the vehicle into gear. Tires squealing, he tore the Security SUV down the street and aimed for the center of the massive armored cyborgs.

Unfortunately, all I've got is the Randall Grey vs. Soldiers of Arachnos artwork you made.

Most of my characters follow the philosophy that there is no evil nor good... Merely the number of people you leave either helped or victimized in your wake.